Faithfully Remain
by siobhane
Summary: Squall decides to renovate and sell Raine's bar while on sabbatical. Harassed by an ornery cat, the suspicious citizens of Winhill, and his mother's ghost, Squall finds that as usual, nothing ever goes according to plan. (Successor Challenge 2017)
1. Chapter 1

**Faithfully Remain**

* * *

~o~

* * *

Beneath cracked, darkened windows, weathered wooden planter boxes overflowed with brittle, long-dead flowers that Squall only guessed were once petunias. Local newspapers, folded and encased in narrow plastic bags lay piled on the doormat. The mailbox hung askew on the wall, a pile of junk mail and letters scattered down over the steps and onto the sidewalk like the confetti Selphie adored so much. Taped to the wall was a yellowed flier for last year's annual Flower Festival.

The last tenant left more than a year ago. As far as Squall knew, the place sat vacant ever since. Laguna swore someone checked on it every now and then, but it looked as if no one set foot on the property for quite some time.

No one ever stayed long. Previous tenants reported strange sounds – the mournful moans and wails of a woman, bumps and thumps in the night, footsteps on the stairs when no one else was in the house. Some said they saw her in the bar and in the living room, wringing her hands and waiting for something.

Squall was a practical, logical man, but he believed in ghosts. It was one of the reasons he avoided the place until now.

He fished a set of keys from his pocket, slipped the ring over his index finger and weighed them in his palm. Laguna gave them to him three years ago, but never did Squall imagine himself ever using them. Nor did he imagine himself facing this on his own, but here he was.

Cid said he needed a break. Rinoa said it would give him closure. Laguna cried when Squall told him his plans.

He preferred to work, and the past was the past, but the bar belonged to him and he'd put this trip off for too long. With a three-month sabbatical ahead of him, and Rinoa too busy with Timber restoration negotiations in Deling City to take a vacation, Squall chose pragmatism over leisure.

The bar was a stone around his neck, with yearly property tax bills and repair invoices and notices from Winhill's town council about the state of the building. All of that fueled his decision to fix the place up and sell it. There was no point in owning a property that he didn't plan to use, or one that didn't at least pay for itself. Even if Laguna offered to foot the bill, Squall saw no reason to hold on to it.

Laguna couldn't bear to set foot inside, and there were too many bad memories for Ellone to stay long. What else was he supposed to do? Why keep it if no one could stand to be there?

Keys in hand, Squall was tempted to head to Deling City or Dollet instead.

He sensed the neighbors watched him loiter before the neglected bar and he pictured them peering from behind gaps in curtains. Winhill was never the most welcoming town, and its hostility toward strangers was almost legend. They might welcome him if they knew he was Raine's son, but Ellone's memories showed their mistrust and dislike of Laguna, something Laguna was either oblivious to or something he pointedly ignored. There was a good chance they would view Squall in the same light.

He was a stranger. An outsider. Their wariness of newcomers was understandable, but Squall didn't intend to make waves here, only air out the past and rid himself of the burden.

He cleaned up the spilled mail and discarded the half-dozen newspapers in the trash bin on the curb, then retrieved his bag from the trunk. As he shut the lid, the curtains at three separate windows across the street swished shut and he imagined the gossip mill of Winhill in overdrive as the old folk speculated about the stranger outside the bar.

"You the caretaker?" a gravelly voice demanded.

Squall spun around to face a frail-looking elderly man with a shock of white hair and a heavily lined face. The man hunched over his cane and eyed Squall with a sharp, suspicious gaze.

"Well? Are you?"

"Sort of," Squall said.

"You any relation to the lady who used to own this place?"

"She was my mother," Squall said.

"So I thought," the man said. "You got the look of her."

The man blinked a few times and switched his cane from one hand to the other with a soft, pained grunt.

"Didn't figure you'd wanna come back, after they way those old biddies did you and that little girl Raine was lookin' after."

Squall folded his arms over his chest and prepared for a request or demand to leave town, but the man only gazed at the bar with a sorrowful expression and shook his head.

"Shame," he muttered.

"Did you need something?" Squall asked.

"Nothin' in particular," the man said. "Jes makin' sure you' ain't robbin' the place."

Squall doubted there was anything to steal that the previous tenants hadn't already plundered in the years between then and now. By all accounts, Raine was a practical, working-class woman, and it was unlikely she owned piles of precious jewels or hid a stash of gold under the floorboards.

"Never agreed with them sendin' you away," the man said. "They thought the two of you invited trouble, what with that little girl bein' strange and you killing your Ma when you was bein' born."

A fist to the jaw could not have hurt more. He already harbored a great deal of guilt, knowing how his mother died. To hear it spoken aloud only added to his guilty conscience.

Squall lifted his bag from the step and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"Need to get cleaned up," he told the man. "It was a long trip."

"Sure, sure," he said. "Name's Jeremy, by the way. I knew your Ma well. You wanna know somethin', you jes ask me. These old biddies around here won't tell you nothin' that's true."

"I'll keep that in mind," Squall lied.

The man bid him good day and hobbled away. Squall watched his slow progress for a minute, then turned and unlocked the door.

The scent of stale air confronted him as he stepped inside the darkened bar and his sinuses burned in revolt. He dropped his bag on the floor and opened every window in the room to air it out.

A thick layer of dust coated every surface, including the crispy, grayish flowers left in vases on the tables. He touched one and the brittle leaves crumbled. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling fans.

He certainly had his work cut out for him.

The upstairs was in no better shape than the bar. Someone left a window open, and bird droppings and down feathers littered the floor and dotted the dust cloths covering the furniture. A trio of cats lounged on the couch, and a squirrel chattered at him from the eaves. The dust was thicker here, everything coated in a fuzzy brown blanket that gave the room an antiqued, dull patina.

He shooed the four-legged squatters from the couch. Two of them fled through the open window, but a fat gray one narrowed its vibrant green eyes, flattened its ears, and hissed at him.

Squall hissed back.

Undaunted, the cat hopped from the couch to the coffee table to an armchair. It curled up and watched him with unblinking eyes.

Squall peeled back the dust cloth to reveal an aged but cared-for couch covered in a crocheted blanket. He set his bag down and opened the remaining windows. A cool breeze fluttered the curtains and carried with it the scent of grass and sunlight, but it only highlighted the filth around him.

He spent the better part of the day cleaning and scribbled a long list of repairs to complete during his stay. So involved was he in his project that he forgot to run to the grocery down the road to stock up on food and necessities before the store closed.

If he wanted to eat, he would have to get his meal from the small restaurant near the church. He debated whether or not he should face the locals just yet, but his last meal was on the train the night before. To expedite his trip, he skipped breakfast and worked through lunch.

A shower and a change of clothes later, he left the bar and walked the short distance to the restaurant. As before, curtains moved and faces peered out at him from behind glass, but no one came out to welcome him.

The restaurant was not busy, with only an elderly couple seated in the dining room. They stopped their conversation to stare as he made his way to the counter.

"What do you want?" the waitress demanded.

Squall read the menu board and selected the first special on the list.

"Meatloaf," he said. "To go, please."

"We're fresh out. Sorry."

Nonplussed, Squall chose the next item on the list.

"Baked chicken, then."

"Out of that, too."

Squall gritted his teeth. He suspected the problem was not a shortage of nightly specials.

"Why don't you tell me what you do have, and I'll get that."

"We're out of everything," the waitress said. "Sorry."

At that moment, a man in an apron brought out a tray laden with the aforementioned chicken and meatloaf and carried it to the elderly couple's table. Squall's stomach screamed in protest at the scent of gravy and garlic.

"This is a restaurant. How can you be out of everything?" he asked.

"You're disturbing the customers, sir," the waitress said. "Please leave."

"Is there anywhere else in town to buy food?" he asked, but he already knew her answer.

"Nope. Sorry."

Squall's temper flared, but there was no point in arguing. If these people were determined to give him a hard time, nothing would dissuade them, though it was tempting to drop his mother's name in hopes they might be fond enough of her to take pity on him.

He turned on his heel and headed for the door. Just as he reached the threshold, Jeremy hobbled in and called out to the waitress.

"Jane, gimmie a plate of that meatloaf and a Winhill Pale in a glass."

He nearly collided with Squall, who jumped back to avoid knocking the man down.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Jeremy said, and there was real warmth in his tone. "Just finishing up dinner?"

"No," Squall said, testily. "Apparently, they're out of everything."

The old man frowned and cocked his head at the waitress.

"You givin' this young man a hard time?" Jeremy demanded.

The waitress feigned innocence and avoided his gaze.

"You damn fools is what's keepin' this town in the dark ages, you know," Jeremy said. He pointed his cane at Jane and snarled. "Turnin' away a payin' customer, for what? 'Cause you heard some strange man was in town and assumed he was gonna steal all your gil-store silverware?"

He turned to Squall and patted his arm.

"Jane, get the boy a plate of whatever he asked for," Jeremy said. "He's Raine's boy, and he don't mean no harm."

Squall's face colored as the pair at the table gaped at him over their plates of chicken and meat loaf.

"Thanks, but-" Squall began, but Jeremy waved him off.

"Damn stupid prejudiced folks in this town," Jeremy said. "Don't you pay them no mind. Come on, sit. My treat."

He considered walking out anyway, but his hunger won out. He followed Jeremy and sat as the reluctant waitress placed two beers on the table and paired them with glasses of ice water. The old man guzzled half his beer at once, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered at Squall with a watery, blue-eyed gaze.

"Your Ma was a real fine woman," Jeremy said. "People of this town loved her. Jes, no one one quite understood what she saw in that man she married."

"Laguna," Squall said. "His name's Laguna."

"So he's still alive."

Squall nodded.

"Well, then he ain't got no sympathy from me," Jeremy said. "He done got her pregnant and run off on her and never looked back, didn't he?"

"Is that what people around here think?" Squall asked.

"That's sure how it looked," Jeremy said.

Squall sipped his beer and wondered if it was worth it to correct the assumption. It was true he left, but that wasn't the full story, and though Laguna bore some of the responsibility, some circumstances were beyond his control.

In spite of himself, and aware that the elderly couple listened in and would report back to the gossip machine at work in this town, Squall gave a very abbreviated version of Laguna's tale.

Never before had he shared personal information with a stranger, nor would he under different circumstances, but there was something about Jeremy that disarmed him. Maybe it was that he was Squall's only ally in a hostile land and he was grateful for the meal, or maybe because in the years since he'd met Laguna, he'd come to understand his quirks, his flaws, and his reasons for doing what he did.

A plate of meatloaf and four beers later, Squall was drunk, his stomach was full, and his story was told.

"You mean to tell me that silly fool became the President of Esthar?" Jeremy cried. "It's a wonder the whole place hasn't gone up in flames."

"I'm as surprised as you are," Squall agreed. He laughed softly at his empty plate and leaned his elbows on the table. "He must be good at it, though. They keep re-electing him."

"Must be a country of morons, then," Jeremy said, but sighed. "Your Ma loved him, you know. Never thought she'd be one to fall head-over-heels, but she did. Lotsa young men in this town was interested, but she turned them all down. Picky's what the hens all said, but Raine? She was independent, smart, had a good thing going with that bar. She never needed a man to get by. Never seemed to want one, neither."

"Love does funny things to a person," Squall said, and thought of Rinoa. He owed her a call, to let her know he arrived safely. "I should get going."

"What happened to the little girl?"

"She lives on a ship," Squall said.

"She was a sweet kid," Jeremy said. "I remember the day she went missing. Wasn't but a month or so after she married your Pa..."

* * *

~o~

* * *

 _Tuesday, February 12, 1:30PM_

Laguna was late.

He was always late, but today he was late when Raine really needed him to be on time. The Flower Festival Committee had reserved the bar for a meeting, and there was a lot to do to prepare.

Not that Laguna was a big help. He dropped things, couldn't cook to save his life, spilled drinks, broke glasses, tripped over his own feet, and got in the way more often than not, but Raine didn't feel so well today. Her stomach was upset and she lacked the energy needed to do everything on her own.

The meeting was always a big pay-day for the bar. This time would be no exception, as the committee head reserved six tables and pre-paid for catering and an open bar for members. And those members could drink. She would be busy until well after close.

She set aside a bowl of sliced limes and glanced at the clock. Laguna was now over an hour late. She didn't have time to go track him down. How a grown man could have no concept of time or responsibility was beyond her.

Yet, it was that carefree charm that drew her to him in the first place. It was what she loved most about him. He was the bright spot in her otherwise boring life, a whirlwind of chaos in her neat and ordered world and there was never a dull moment with him around.

She set aside her dish rag and pulled on a pair of rubber boots.

"Elle?" she called up the stairs. "Ellone? Come down here, please."

Raine waited for the girl's footsteps on the floorboards above, but there was nothing but silence. Perhaps Ellone took her nap early, or more worrisome, had fallen into one of her dream trances.

She climbed the stairs and found the living room empty. Ellone's bed was made. Her favorite yellow shoes were gone.

"Damn it," Raine swore. "The two of you are going to be the death of me."

Laguna was forbidden to take Ellone on a hunt with him, and Ellone was forbidden to leave the house without an adult. It wasn't just the monsters that occasionally found their way into the square, it was also because of what Ellone was. Though the occupation was less intrusive or aggressive these days, they were still around and still very interested in gifted little girls.

Raine pulled on a knit shawl to protect her from the chilly February wind and stepped out onto the front step. There was no sign of either in the square.

Reluctant though she was, Raine trekked to the house next door. There was a better than average chance Ellone was upstairs in her old bedroom. She sometimes sneaked from the house to play there or hurl water balloons from the windows at people on the sidewalk. Raine had Laguna to thank for that mischief.

Raine avoided looking at the bullet holes in the kitchen wall and pushed back the memory of how they came to be. Best not to think of that. It was too awful to dwell on for long.

"Ellone?" she called up the stairs. "If you're up there, you need to come down, right now."

The only sound was the wind at the windows and the rattle of the screen door in the draft.

As she returned to the front step, a red-faced Laguna raced toward her, his machine gun slung across his back. He came to a halt before her, looked up at her from the sidewalk.

"Where's Ellone?" she asked.

Laguna shook his head. The pain in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

* * *

~o~

* * *

Squall returned to the bar slightly intoxicated but less anxious about being here, a stranger in a strange town. He'd given no thought as to where he would sleep until he flicked on the light and peered around at the still-dusty furniture.

The cat was still there, curled up on the couch again. It's stare offered him a challenge.

Cat or no cat, the couch was the cleanest thing in the place. If he'd known going into this how filthy the place would be, he would have brought camping gear and set up a tent in the back yard.

The cat yowled when Squall shooed it away, and this time it perched itself on the coffee table to glare at him. Squall ignored it, kicked off his boots and settled in for the night.

As he dozed off, something skittered on the roof. He sat up, glanced around, only half-sure he was safe. The skittering came again and a shadow passed over the open window.

Just the cat.

He got up and closed the window so his unwelcome visitor couldn't return in the middle of the night and attempt to reclaim its throne.

Without a breeze, the room became stifling.

Now that he was awake, it would be tough to go back to sleep.

Might as well be productive.

The closet was filled with a random assortment of items, left by previous tenants or packed up by the caretaker a decade ago. He dragged out boxes and battered suitcases and sporting equipment and old appliances and began to sort things into piles.

Most wound up in the discard pile. Squall had no need of deflated basketballs or roller skates without wheels or rusted toasters full of petrified crumbs.

At the very back of the closet, he found an old hat box with a faded floral print. He set it on the coffee table and lifted the lid. Inside was an assortment of sentimental items - a heart cut from construction paper so old, it was hard to tell what color it once was, a small stack of letters banded together with a brittle rubber band, envelopes full of photographs, ticket stubs, greeting cards.

Nothing of interest, nothing worth keeping.

From downstairs came the sound of breaking glass. Squall stood up, still a little tipsy from the beer, and crept down the stairs on silent, sock-clad feet.

When he reached the bottom, he dropped into a crouch, ready to fight if necessary. He imagined all sorts of threats as he surveyed the darkness beyond the landing. Rogue monsters. Burglars. A plague of mean, stubborn green-eyed cats. Black-clad elderly citizens of Winhill wielding two-by-fours and torches.

He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

He rose from his crouch and flicked on the light. The room was bathed in the amber mood-lighting typical of bars everywhere in the world, but due to the cobwebs and dust, the ambiance was more akin to a horror movie haunted house.

Nothing seemed out of order. The windows were all intact. Bud vases still stood on every table, full of their decaying flora.

Squall was about to turn around and go back upstairs when a woman's soft cry stopped him in his tracks. The lights flickered. Cobwebs danced on the breeze.

He was not easily spooked, but goosebumps rose on his arms and he backed away, sure there was someone in the room with him.

A sharp trill cut through the silence and Squall jumped nearly a foot into the air. Only then did he remember his phone was in his pocket.

"Get yourself together, Leonhart," he muttered and withdrew the phone from his pocket.

Rinoa. He forgot to call.

"Hey," he answered.

"Hey yourself," she said. "I thought you were going to call when you got there. I was starting to worry."

"I got distracted," he said. "I made it okay."

With Rinoa's voice in his ear, his courage returned. He used the boost to investigate the area behind the bar, but found nothing amiss. No glasses toppled over, no broken shards on the floor.

Maybe it was just his imagination.

"Are you working out?" she asked. "You sound winded."

"No," he said. He didn't want to tell her he was a little drunk, really creeped out, and questioning his reasons for being here. "It's in pretty bad shape. A lot of dust. It's getting to me."

At the top of the stairs, the green-eyed cat yowled.

"Goddamnit," he swore. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"Who?" Rinoa asked.

"This... cat," he said. "I can't get it to leave. I thought I chased it out."

Rinoa giggled. "Is there actually an adversary you can't best?"

"Possibly," he said. He picked up a paper coaster from the bar and pitched it at the offending feline. It took off into the living room. "The battle's not over yet."

"Well, you let me know how that turns out. Maybe you could just make friends with it," she said.

"In this town? Unlikely," he said. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Wish I could be there with you. I know this is probably pretty hard."

He turned off the light and climbed the stairs. The cry came again, from below, and a chill ran down his spine.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just want this over with."

Back upstairs, the cat sat atop the hat box.

 _Staring_.

Squall switched the phone to his other ear and glared back.

" As soon as possible," he added.

* * *

~o~

* * *

 _Tuesday, February 12, 14:17 PM_

Raine sat on the edge of the bed as Laguna packed a bag. In his panic, he paid no attention to what went in the bag, and Raine plucked out random items, including her own socks and underwear from his hastily collected belongings.

On his temple, a deep cut still seeped, though most of it scabbed over. He still wore the same bloodstained shirt. Raine couldn't take her eyes off the dots of burgundy-brown on the fabric. Knocked him unconscious. Stole their child. As much as she didn't want Laguna to go, there was no other choice.

"I can't believe I let them get away," he said. "I can't believe they took her."

She balled her fists in her lap and took a calming breath. They tried before and left Ellone orphaned and traumatized. How much worse would it be this time? How much could they make a little girl suffer?

"I'm furious with you for taking her out without telling me," Raine said. "But they would have come to the house if they hadn't found you there. They would have taken her one way or another. It's not your fault."

Laguna dropped a handful of Ellone's stuffed animals and knelt before Raine. He took her face in his hands and brushed his thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks.

"I'll fix this," he promised. "I'll bring her back."

Raine wished she could beg him not to go. Something in her gut sensed if he walked out the door now, it would be the last time she laid eyes on him.

"You come back too," she said. "Promise me. You'll come back."

Laguna leaned in and kissed her lips. When he pulled back, his eyes glistened with unshed tears, eyes full of sorrow and love.

"I promise. I'll come back to you, Raine."

* * *

Notes:

There will be 3-4 parts to this. It isn't quite what I had in mind when I started it and I'm sure a variation of this has been done before, but I hope it's at least a little entertaining if not terribly original. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

~o~

* * *

Squall woke early the next morning, a pleasant and warm weight against his chest. Still half asleep, he reached up to stroke Rinoa's hair, pleased that she decided to join him instead of staying in Deling City.

He nuzzled the top of her head and noted an odd earthy scent. The dust. Must've settled again while they slept. He would fix that today, if it was the last thing he ever did.

"What did you do to your hair?" he murmured. "Soft. And... short?"

"Rrrraarrrooowww!"

Squall bolted upright and the weight lifted, but sharp claws dug into his thigh as the cat scrambled away. It knocked over the hat box in its retreat and finally came to a stop before a bookshelf across the room, where it flattened its ears and narrowed its eyes at him.

"You're welcome to leave at any time," Squall said.

He inspected the scratches on his thigh. Tiny beads of blood dotted along streaks of raised, pink flesh. The wounds were not deep, but they stung. An annoyance, but he would survive.

The cat, however was on thin ice. Atop the bookshelf, it licked its paw, probably savoring the blood of its sworn enemy and pretended he wasn't there.

Squall ignored the cat back and dressed for the day, then headed out to the grocery to pick up supplies.

The clerk was only marginally less hostile than a blue dragon, but she didn't deny him sustinance or throw him out of her store. Squall assumed this was either that the rumors had already spread, or she judged by the amount of items in his basket that it would be unwise to turn him away.

He bought ingredients for basic meals, along with some cleaning supplies, a six pack of beer and some bottled water. It was enough to keep him for a week, and barring any unfortunate incidents or unexpected visits, he would be able to work without interruption or distraction.

When he returned to the bar, a pair of older women stood a few paces from the doorstep. Neither greeted him.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"So, you're just going to sell it to some outsider?" asked the one with the salt and pepper hair.

"Maybe," he said. "Unless someone local is interested."

The one with the faded blonde hair huffed and put her hands on her hips.

"That's how you honor your mother's memory?" she asked.

Squall cocked his head at her and gritted his teeth.

"Like this town honored her by sending her children away?"

Salt-and-pepper gasped and laid a hand against her chest. "Well, I never!"

"Marci, Annabel, shut your fool mouths before you start catchin' bite bugs."

Squall turned to the old man who seemed to have become his champion.

"It ain't none of your business what he does with the place," Jeremy said. "And he don't owe you no explanation."

"But -"

"He was born here," Jeremy said. "He woulda growed up here if you meddling little witches hadn't gotten yourself involved. You ain't got no right to treat him like an outsider. He was family and you sent him away."

Squall frowned and cast his eyes to Jeremy. Family? Laguna was the only family Squall knew of. As far as he knew, all Raine's relatives were dead.

"Really, Jeremy," Salt-and-pepper said. "As if you didn't agree with us at the time."

"Well, I don't recall ever agreein' with you," he said. "As I recall, I didn't disagree like I shoulda."

Squall turned away from the bickering trio, unlocked the front door, and went inside. No point in standing around while they argued over the past. He didn't have the time or patience to listen to them dispute what did or didn't happen, and if they wanted him gone, he would see to it he was gone as soon as possible.

He dumped his armload of bags on the floor at the foot of the stairs, then startled when something moved behind the bar.

It wasn't the cat this time.

It was Raine, pouring liquor into glasses that were not there. Phantom vases of flowers shimmered on every table and Squall caught their sweet scent for just a second before the odor of dust prevailed.

She threw her head back and laughed, turned to replace the bottle on the shelf, then vanished from his sight.

Squall stared at the spot where she'd been, a mixture of longing and frustration brewing in his chest.

Twenty years had passed, yet she stayed.

Why?

His heart heavy, Squall carried the perishable groceries to the fridge and put them away, then carried the rest upstairs.

The contents of the hat box spilled across the floor beside the coffee table. He crouched down and gathered the items together, shoved it all back inside, and closed the lid.

As he placed the hat box in the discard pile, the cat jumped off the back of the recliner and knocked it from his hands. Letters and pictures and sentimental trinkets rained down around him in a storm of yellow and gray and sepia.

The cat gave a low growl as it sat among the mess and batted a folded sheet of paper at him.

"You're determined to make this harder than it has to be, aren't you," he said.

It licked its lips, reached out a paw, and edged the paper closer. If Squall wasn't mistaken, the beast was now _purring_.

"Fine, have it your way."

He picked up the square of paper and unfolded it.

A letter, in his father's almost careless yet artistic script, the ink faded and the paper stained, but the words still legible after so many years.

He sat down to stare at the date, and almost crumpled the paper into a ball to use as a weapon against the cat, who stared at him, unblinking from the coffee table.

 _May 20_

 _My dearest Raine,_

 _Our quest to infiltrate Esthar has gone awry, and we're holed up in FH for the time being. I'll spare you the details of our first attempt because I know you'll roll your eyes and tell me I'd lose my own head if it wasn't so securely attached to my neck._

 _You'll be pleased to know, my head is, in fact, still attached to my body, though the fates sure seem determined to separate the two. What can I say? I might trip over my own two legs, but I must have twelve lives like a cat. Or hey. Maybe I'm immortal. Haha! Sorry. You probably won't think that's funny, but Kiros and Ward sure seem to get some good laughs out of my unkillability (well, Kiros laughs. Ward just rolls his eyes and makes that face that says I'm a damned fool, but I know he's laughing on the inside). It sure seems that way some days. Knock me down, I keep on kicking. So long as my leg doesn't cramp my style, that is. Even then, I'll keep on limping. Haha!_

 _Anyway, we shall regroup and persevere. As they say, if at first you don't succeed, beat the crap out of it with a hammer. We'll get there, one way or another. Promise._

 _I think you'd really like FH, Raine. I can't say exactly why I feel that way, except that it has a lot in common with Winhill and it's surrounded by the ocean. The breeze smells so fresh and clean and the locals don't care who you are or where you're from, and they LOVE to drink, no matter what time of day. You'd make a killing here! It's such a strange assortment of people, from everywhere, expats from Galbadia and Dollet, those in need of a warmer climate than their homeland of Trabia, even one or two from Centra, if you can believe it! I can picture us foraging a new life here by the sea, but I know you're attached to your home, and wherever your home is, that's where I want to be. But, oh, Raine. This place... well, maybe we can visit some day._

 _So, to status on Elle, we're pretty sure she's still in Esthar. Word is, Adel has quite the collage of little girls, but she only keeps the ones with "potential." Potential for what, I shudder to think. Those girls are submitted to testing of some sort, to determine if they're suitable for succession. I don't want to picture sweet little Elle in her clutches, but the more I hear, the more worried I am for her. She must be so afraid, and it's all my fault._

 _You're probably still pretty upset with me, huh? I wish you could write back, but for now I'll have to settle for writing to you instead. I hope you're getting these letters. I hope all is well..._

* * *

 _~o~_

* * *

May 25, 23:57 PM

Raine switched off the sign at the window and locked the door as the last customer of the night stumbled out onto the sidewalk with a hearty "goodnight." She watched him until he disappeared around the bend, then returned to the bar to clean up and count the till.

Money was tight. With the war on, people were more conservative with their cash, even those with disposable income. The few young men left in town after the first Estharian invasion all went off to fight months ago. Those left behind were elderly and children and wives and lovers and mothers that waited by the mailbox every day for word of their fate.

Raine, too, waited at the mailbox for Laguna's letters. At first, there was one a week, then one a month, each postmarked from a different place, some from places Raine never heard of. Pages and pages of his ramblings that she read over and over each night before she settled down for bed.

Though life in Winhill was much the same, she wished she could write back. There was no way for her to communicate with him, no address in which to send him word that he would soon be a father.

They hadn't exactly planned for this, rather, they agreed to let nature take its course. A child was something they both wanted eventually. Raine just didn't expect it might happen so soon, or that she would find out after Laguna was gone.

She ran a hand over her stomach and sighed.

"He's not the most responsible man in the world," she said to her belly. "But he'll be a great father."

Raine smiled as she pictured Laguna, a rapt expression on his face as he held their child for the first time. There was no doubt, he would fall head-over-heels in love with the tiny thing he helped create. He would savor every smile and every giggle, be mystified over tiny toes and fingers and fat rolls and cries for food or sleep or changing.

Then she pictured how his first attempt to change a diaper might go and laughed. She imagined there would be a lot of screaming, definitely some complaining, a leg cramp or two, possibly to get out of it. The second and third attempts would likely be disastrous as well.

Hyne, how she missed him.

"He's a mess," she admitted, "but I know he'll love you as much as I do."

* * *

~o~

* * *

Squall spent a week cleaning. The dust was so thick, the upstairs took two days and the bar four. On his hands and knees, Squall scrubbed the wood floors and re-sealed and oiled them to prevent rot. He polished all the furniture until it gleamed in the dim light from the windows, cleaned all the glass and mirrors, gutted the back storage area of anything broken or useless and washed every glass, dish and utensil in the place and packed them away for use by whomever purchased the house.

He avoided going out. The last thing he wanted was another confrontation. He also avoided digging too deep into the remaining contents of the hat box. He wasn't here for answers. He wasn't here to make peace with his origins. That was better left alone. The past was behind him, and there was no changing it.

He didn't think too hard about what Jeremy said, either. The old man stopped by a couple of times, but Squall either didn't answer the door or refused to be good company until the old man got the hint and left. There was a story there, too, but one he didn't have time or inclination to hear.

As he scrubbed down the inside of a cabinet behind the bar that smelled of mildew and was full of rat droppings, the cat plopped down on the floor to stare at him. Its tail swept back and forth against the wood but it yawned hugely when he gave it his attention.

"If you can talk, now would be a good time to say something," he said.

It licked it's paw as if feigning ignorance.

They'd formed an uneasy truce in the last few days. So long as it didn't sleep on his face, scratch him, impart any more unwanted wisdom upon him, or get underfoot, he didn't mind it being there so much.

"If you expect me to feed you, you're out of luck," he said.

The cat narrowed its eyes.

"Go catch a mouse or something. You're a cat. You can feed yourself."

How bored and lonely was he that he expected the cat to understand a word he was saying? He was never the sort to crave human companionship, but he never noticed how full of people life had become until there wasn't a soul around to talk to. He never noticed how much he'd come to rely on daily interaction with others, be it chats with friends, meetings with clients or the near daily demands from staff for budget increases.

His days were now filled with people. People he relied on and people who relied on him. People who seemed to be there to make his life more difficult and people he couldn't live without. For a guy who used to avoid contact beyond the cursory, isolation should have been a welcome break.

But it wasn't. Just over a week into this project, and Squall found himself craving the company of someone besides the cat.

He thought about calling Rinoa, just to hear her voice, but she was probably still in meetings and wouldn't be able to talk until later in the evening. He could call Laguna, but he would probably cry for ten minutes, then ramble on about nonsense. Ellone was a good option if he wanted to speak to a rational human being, but getting in touch with her was tough due to her ever-changing location.

Who else?

Any one of his friends would be happy to speak to him, but did he really want to listen to complaints about the quality of the hot dogs, raving about short skirts and guns, or the trials of trying to organize a Garden Festival on a the pitiful budget available for the project?

No. He did not. Better to suck it up and work.

He resumed his cleaning duties and scrubbed at the mildew stain at the back of the cabinet. The odor of dampness was strong. It tickled the back of his sinuses and his nose ran, and as he wiped the back wall down with cleaner, the particle board dissolved into chunks and left a fist-sized hole in the left corner.

Another, larger chunk fell away when he applied only light pressure to the edge of the hole. He inspected one of the bloated, damp pieces and it crumbled in his fingers like that awful shredded wheat breakfast cereal Quistis ate nearly every morning.

A cursory investigation revealed a slow-drip leak inside the wall, the cabinet rotting away from the inside, and the concrete wet with a thick, pasty layer of crud that smelled of earth and animal musk.

Squall expected a few minor repairs, but this looked to be a big, time consuming project. The entire section of cabinets would need to be ripped out and replaced. He was no expert on plumbing, but he could fix the leak. Cabinetry and mold and mildew removal were outside his wheelhouse.

He stood up and grabbed the bucket of cleaner and water to dump outside. The cat followed him to the door and darted out as soon as it was open, only to stop in what Squall guessed was once a garden. Rusted tomato cages and wooden stakes in neat rows peeked out above thigh-high grass and weeds, and cracked, exposure-rotted plastic flowerpots lined the back fence. To his right was a shed made of tin, to the left, a small greenhouse with a couple of cracked panes, the glass so dirty he was unable to tell what lay inside.

The door of the shed stood open, and Squall spied tools and gardening gloves, terracotta pots turned the color of sand from age, a push mower, and a set of paving stones still wrapped in plastic.

For just a moment, something shimmered inside the shed, the shape of a person, pale yellow, denim, dark brown hair with hints of copper.

He blinked, and she was gone.

A dark longing tightened his chest, a curiosity, a gnawing ache that grew stronger and more urgent by the day.

Raine loved the bar, but gardening was her passion. Or so Ellone once told him, on the rare occasion Ellone actually brought her up. Sometimes, he wondered if her reticence was for his benefit, or for her own. Hyne knew, Laguna couldn't bring himself to speak of it without going to pieces and Ellone had good reasons of her own to avoid talking about it.

He dumped the bucket and took a turn around the small yard. There was potential here, as a selling point, if he found the time to lay down the paving stones and re-landscape.

Though dirty and weathered, the greenhouse was in decent shape, but full of random items not meant for gardening. A rusted bicycle. A steamer trunk with a broken lock. More useless sporting equipment.

It was as if every past tenant left behind pieces of themselves in all the unused spaces, memories discarded and long forgotten, the junk itself ghostly and dilapidated and seeming from other realms, other times, and left for Squall to unearth and ponder.

His mother, though. She was not forgotten. She lived on in his father's memory, in Ellone's, in the bitterness of the townspeople.

Was that why she lingered? Because she wasn't forgotten? Because those that loved her couldn't quite let go? What was it that kept her from resting?

In the corner of the greenhouse, a single lily bloomed in a glazed pot, pristine white, its stalk a vibrant and healthy green.

Squall marveled at the flower. Impossible that it lived and thrived in these conditions, absent water or care. Impossible in its perfection, the petals soft as velvet under his fingertips.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he asked the empty greenhouse.

* * *

~o~

* * *

August 1, 11:34 AM

An oppressive heat settled over Winhill, the air dry and absent even a light breeze to take the edge off. It hadn't rained in almost a month, and Raine's beloved plants suffered in the drought. Even the most resilient, heat-loving of the lot wilted in the afternoon sun. The more delicate succumbed weeks ago. Only the pepper plants flourished and continued to yield fruit.

Raine gathered a basket of peppers in a variety of colors, sizes, and flavors as sweat rolled down her spine and dampened her brow. She used to love gardening, but at seven months pregnant and with the temperature somewhere near boiling, it was no longer a pleasure to tend to her plants. She kept the garden up to fill her quiet days with something besides worry, but it took too much out of her to pour her heart into it the way she used to.

Laguna's last letter came two months ago. It was short and terse, unlike his previous lengthy and verbose ramblings about his adventures. Since then, not a word.

What if he'd fallen off a cliff again? Or got lost trying to find a way into Esthar and starved to death?

Raine was not a worrier by nature, but she worried about Laguna. And Ellone. The two most important people in her world were gone, one a child and in danger, the other a certified klutz with a penchant for getting himself into trouble.

His silence spoke volumes. True, he was flighty and easily distracted, but his loyalty to those he cared for never wavered, even during lengthy separations. If there were no letters, it meant he was unable to send any, not that she'd been abandoned as the townsfolk believed. No matter what she said, she could not convince anyone that wasn't the case.

"Should have known better than to consort with an outsider, Raine. And a G-Army soldier, no less," the neighbor across the square said. "Everyone knows they're worthless, not worth a single Gil of the taxes they cost us every year. And he's a loser for taking off on you."

They didn't understand, Laguna was different. He was not responsible for the Estharian raids, nor the abduction of so many girls. His unit was not the unit assigned to protect them, but all G-Army were the same to them. His reasons for leaving were not due to a lack of love, but a wealth of it, a desire for his family to be complete. But, it didn't matter. All outsiders were the same to them.

Whether Laguna's silence meant he'd arrived safely in Esthar to find no way to post outgoing mail, or he lay wounded and washed up on some distant shore, well, that was beyond Raine's reckoning. She could only hope it was the former, for everyone's sake.

Inside the bar, it was stifling hot. She set the basket on the counter and wiped her brow, then switched on the radio to the news.

" _We've just received word from President Vinzer Deling that Esthar called a ceasefire earlier today and has begun their withdrawal from Galbadian and Dolletian territories,"_ the newscaster said. _"He has extended his gratitude to the G-army for their service and has stated that he's proud of their initiative and sacrifices during this trying time. He stopped short in saying the war is over, but there are rumors being leaked by Deling's administration that the Sorceress Adel has been vanquished, leaving Esthar in the command of the people. A successor for the Sorceress has not yet been named, and any celebration of victory is on hold until further details come in. We'll give you updates as the situation develops."_

If Adel was no more, then the threat to Ellone's safety was no more. Perhaps Laguna and Ellone would make it home in time after all.

* * *

Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows and faves! XOXO


	3. Chapter 3

Squall hired a local carpenter to fix the cabinets, a young man who unironically introduced himself as "Woody." The guy didn't work cheap, but in Squall's experience, cost correlated to quality, and he would gladly pay well for a job well done.

Maybe because he was younger, or maybe because Squall offered a bonus if he finished the work in a week, Woody seemed less hostile than the rest of the townsfolk Squall encountered so far. He kept it professional and refrained from passing judgment on Squall's reasons for being here.

"This place is amazing," Woody said. "Too bad I don't have the cash to buy it from you. I'd take it in a heartbeat."

How tempting it was to sell it to the guy for whatever he could offer. Squall could wash his hands of the place, walk away and never look back, but the words died on his tongue as Raine appeared behind Woody, a bouquet of lilies in her hand.

She placed them in the vases on the empty tables one at a time. One by one, they vanished in her wake.

A lump formed in Squall's throat and he turned away from the carpenter with a shrug. He fled out the back door and into the garden, a painful flutter in his chest. Beside the greenhouse, he dropped to his knees and ran his hands through his hair, on the verge of tears.

It gnawed at him, the thought that he was the reason his mother died. Things happened, especially back then at the tail end of a war, in small towns where technology and life-saving tools were unavailable. But if not for him, maybe she would still be alive.

"I'm sorry," he said.

The cat sauntered toward him, its tail swishing back and forth and the pupils of its green eyes only slits in the sunlight. It rubbed against his knee and gave a plaintive meow, like it empathized with his plight.

He reached out to it and scratched it behind the ear, only to receive a sharp bite on the hand and a hiss of warning.

Squall yanked his hand back and scowled at the wound.

Whatever the cat's reasons for its brief attempt at befriending him, the bite snapped him out of his funk. He glanced around the yard, brushed the hair from his eyes and stood up.

Time to get back to work.

He spent the day in the garden while Woody ripped apart the rotten cabinets. He mowed, trimmed hedges, tossed all the broken pottery, replaced the cracked panes in the greenhouse and disposed of all the junk.

Among the weeds, he found more remnants of the past to consider, but only one was significant enough to give a second look.

It was a set of small hand prints, set in blue-glazed plaster.

 _Ellone, age 5_

Squall sat in the grass and rubbed his finger over the letters, then compared the size of his hand to hers.

Had Elle ever really been so small? In his faded, GF-blurred memories, Ellone seemed so much older, so tall and grown up in comparison. Not even in Laguna's memories did she seem so tiny.

If things were different, maybe there would be a similar stone bearing his own tiny hand prints, the set proudly displayed somewhere near the greenhouse or next to the birdbath or set among the paving stones.

He closed his eyes and imagined his hands sinking into the cool, wet plaster, his mother's gentle encouragement to stay still while the cast set. He pictured himself comparing his hands to the mold over the years as he grew and wondering at how small he'd once been, too.

What was he doing? It wasn't like him to consider might have been. It wasn't like him to long for memories that never happened.

He looked up from the stone and saw his mother's face behind the window. Not watching him, but something in the distance that only she could see.

She turned from the window and disappeared as the cat hopped up on the ledge beneath the pane and stretched out in the sun.

Spooked, Squall took a step back and watched the glass for any movement behind it.

"I don't understand. What are you waiting for?"

His phone rang and he wiped his dirty hands on his jeans before he answered Rinoa's call. He turned his back on the window and paced toward the back of the yard, one fist clenched at his side.

"Hey."

"Hey back at you," Rinoa said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "I'm outside. It's hot."

"How goes the battle of wits with the feline demon?"

"I swear it's Tonberry's cat," he said.

"You named it?"

"What?" Squall asked. "I didn't name it."

"You know what they say. If you name the puppy, you have to keep it," she said.

"I _didn't_ name the puppy. It bit me."

"Tonberry's a great name for a cat," she said. "Those claws are like little knives."

"Did you call just to give me a hard time, Rin? I'm not really in the mood."

She sighed. "Why don't you tell me what's going on? And why you sound so mopey every time I call?"

"It's no big deal," he said. "Just being here is... _difficult_. A lot of work to do, the locals are hostile, and there's cat hair all over my clothes."

"How is that any different than Angelo's?"

"Angelo saved our asses in battle more than once, so I pretend it doesn't exist," Squall said. "It's only fair."

Rinoa laughed and he almost sighed at the sound. He missed the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the way her presence brought him peace.

"That's all that's bothering you? Rude people and cat hair?"

It wasn't, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about his mother or the bits of history lurking in every corner. He didn't have enough words to explain.

"Maybe I need a real vacation after all."

"Really?" she asked. "Where would you go?"

"Maybe down to Centra," he said. "We could camp out on the beach by the lighthouse. Sleep under the stars, eat stuff cooked on sticks."

"Go skinny dipping in the ocean?" she teased.

Squall blushed at the suggestion, as tempting as it sounded.

"I could be convinced, if we were alone," he said. "Water there's cold, though."

"I wish we could, Squall," Rinoa said. "Sounds like fun, the two of us roughing it like the old days."

They only camped once during the war, but he supposed daily dousings of monster guts and blood could be considered roughing it for non-SeeDs. For him, that was a day at the office. Literally and figuratively.

"Any chance you can steal away for a weekend?"

"I'll see what I can do," she said. "No promises, though. This is taking a lot longer than I thought. Galbadia's holding out for terms that are more favorable to their position, which basically means they don't want anything to change."

"You're surprised?" Squall asked.

"No, not really," she said. "So much for democracy, huh?"

"Just don't make any rash decisions," Squall said. "I'm too far away to bail you out if you decide to take hostages."

"Meany," she said. "Those days are behind me. You've showed me the error of my ways, oh mighty SeeD Commander, Sir."

"Liar. I know you."

This time, her sigh carried with it notes of frustration and weariness.

"Sometimes... extreme measures are the only language they understand."

"Spoken like a SeeD," Squall said.

"Guess you guys have rubbed off me."

"Now would be a really good time for you to figure out how to teleport," he said. "I miss you."

"I'll get right on that," she promised. She paused and a man's voice shouted something behind her. "Miss you too."

"Well, I'll let you get back to it. Sounds like you're busy."

"Call you tonight?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll be around."

Done for the day, dirty and tired, Squall retreated upstairs to shower. On his way to the bath, he passed the hat box, hesitated, then sat down on the couch to stare at it.

Maybe, his answers, his mothers reasons for sticking around lay inside those pages and envelopes. He needed to understand why her spirit lingered here, why she stayed.

Now or never, before his courage waned and he did something rash like throw it into the fireplace and set it ablaze.

The lid came away without resistance, but it was tough to make himself really look at the things inside.

Where to start? The bundle of letters? The photographs?

He sorted things into piles. Laguna's letters, bundled in a rubber band gone stiff with age. An assortment of Ellone's faded crafts and artwork. A ticket stub and playbill for the Hyne's Day play at the local church. A collection of greeting cards for birthdays from "Uncle" Jeremy and "Auntie" Bethany.

Squall chose his father's letters, as they seemed to offer the most potential for information. One by one, he read through them, but his father's rambling stories and flowery descriptions of his travels offered him no new insight about his mother or what she'd really been like.

Nonetheless, he found himself engaged in these stories he already knew. Though Laguna's tales rambled and he occasionally used the wrong word, Squall learned his father wrote much better than he spoke. Meandering or not, the letters held a certain charm of the kind Squall never quite managed in daily life or on paper.

Across from him, his mother sat in the recliner, a paperback book in her hand. Tonberry hopped into the space Raine occupied, then to the table to sit beside the box.

"What's your problem?" Squall asked.

The cat dipped it's paw inside the box and swatted a pale green envelope.

"Well aren't you helpful," he said sourly, but he plucked the envelope from the box and opened the flap.

Inside was a yellowed baby shower invitation, the date a few weeks before his birthday.

* * *

 **~X~**

* * *

 _August 9th, 15:30 PM_

Raine surveyed the gifts piled upon the coffee table and pretended to be pleased by the generosity of her friends and neighbors. Two dozen packages awaited her attention and she sat down at their urging to open them.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate their attention or generosity. It wasn't even that she was on her own and hadn't heard from Laguna at all. It was the sympathy, the quiet judgment and whispers of her neighbors that rubbed her raw.

 _Poor thing. That man got her knocked up, then skedaddled._

 _Single mother, what a pity._

 _Should have known better._

 _He's never coming back._

The baby kicked and rolled over and a dull pain shot through her left hip. She hid a grimace as a gift was placed into her hands.

"Open it," Annabel said.

Raine pulled the ribbon on the gift and slipped a finger under the taped end of the small flat box. Inside, an off-white hand-knit sweater with matching mittens and booties lay nestled in a bed of tissue paper. She ran her hand over it, the yarn soft under her fingers.

"Thank you, Annabel," she said.

"It'll look precious on your little one," Annabel said sweetly.

Touched by the thoughtful, handmade gift, Raine wiped her eyes and held it against her chest.

"It's lovely."

She opened the next gift, and the next, until there were no more and piles of gifts surrounded her. Too many, in her opinion but she loved and appreciated all of them, from the adorable baby clothes in chocobo and cactuar print, the soft crocheted blankets, bottles and pacifier sets, rattles and boxes of cloth diapers, all to welcome her new son or daughter.

The ladies offered tons of advice as they all sat down to eat cake and snacks, and Raine's guilt grew. True, they were narrow minded and judgmental, but they were also generous and kind and they told the truth about what came next, about things the small town doctor wouldn't tell her and the ugly details of what he glossed over when she asked.

They brought with them not only gifts, but a ton of food – casseroles and soups and meals that could be frozen and thawed later. Enough to keep her through the remainder of her term if she packaged and froze them in smaller portions.

One by one, her guests left, each with a parting kiss on the cheek and well wishes. Raine felt like such a fake as she pasted on a smile and accepted their kind words.

Her heart hurt as she sat down at the dining room table and surveyed the mess left behind. Only an hour ago, she wished to be alone. Now, the silence proved unwelcome.

"Where are you, Laguna?" she asked. "I need you."

She shook off her melancholy and got up to clean. Better to stay busy than to wallow in what couldn't be changed.

Night fell as she washed the last dishes and set them aside to dry. For a minute, she stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked around at the empty, quiet space around her.

What if they never came back?

She retrieved Laguna's last letter from the hatbox under the bed, sat down and unfolded the last one she received. Just a few terse lines, the ink smudged in a few places like he'd cried while writing it.

 _June 2_

 _Raine,_

 _I've run out of things to report, but I miss you and love you, and I can't wait to see your face again._

 _All my love,_

 _Laguna_

Over two months since he last wrote. Did he ever make it to Esthar? And what of Ellone? Was she safe? Were they even alive?

On the verge of tears, Raine stood and shoved the letter into back into the hatbox and crammed the lid back on.

No more. She could not do this to herself anymore.

She carried the hatbox to the closet and placed it on the top shelf, then hid it behind a shopping bag from a store in Timber she never visited. Out of sight, out of mind. If they were never coming back, if her neighbors and friends were right, then there was no point in re-reading his letters again and again like they might summon them home.

In a fit of rage, she picked up a cheap green glass florist's vase from the kitchen counter and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the bookcase and splintered into a hundred pieces that rained over the wood floor with a staccato rattle. She burst into tears and sobbed into her hands, her tantrum brief but violent enough to sear her ribs and leave her breathless and slumped against the wall.

Inside her, the baby flip-flopped and kicked her bladder.

The child didn't even have a name yet. She held off with the hope that Laguna and Ellone would return to her in time to help pick one out.

"It's okay," she told her stomach. "Mommy's just emotional. We'll get by."

She wiped her eyes with the hem of her shirt and collected herself. What she wouldn't give for a stiff drink and a bubble bath, but alcohol was off the table and while she could get herself into the tub, getting out could be a problem.

Best to sleep off her despair and start fresh in the morning.

* * *

 **~X~**

* * *

Squall woke to shouts from outside and an unnatural orange flicker at the window. Bleary-eyed, he sat up and checked his watch.

He whacked his shin on an ottoman on the way to the window, still sleep-drunk, and cursed as he rubbed the wound. Something soft and fuzzy wound between his feet, teeth nipped at his ankle and a low growl rose up from the floor.

With his foot, he nudged the cat out of the way and pushed the curtains aside.

Across the street, the house at the end of the row blazed, all the windows aglow. Tongues of flame licked from the roof, and a crowd of people gathered on the sidewalk, helpless to put out the fire.

He dressed as a shrill wail drowned out the shouts of the townspeople, the cat yowling at the commotion. He didn't bother to lace his boots, checked his junctions and tore down the stairs and out into the night, where the crowd did nothing but stand by and watch the flames with varying expressions of horror and awe.

"Is there anyone inside?" Squall asked an elderly woman.

The woman sneered at him and turned away.

"Is there anyone in there?" Squall asked again, louder this time.

"The lady who lives there hasn't come out yet," a 30-something man offered. "Her name's Marci."

Squall didn't need to know her name, only that she needed help. He called upon Ifrit's strength for protection from the flames, took a deep breath and strode toward the open front door. Behind him, the wail of the small fire brigade truck died away as it parked, beacons flashing.

Inside the house, intense heat rolled over him in waves and his eyes teared from the smoke. Flames licked up the walls inside the kitchen, eerie and alive. He called out, but got no answer in return.

With the sleeve of his shirt, he covered his mouth and nose and searched the first floor, room by room. The smoke grew thick and dark, and a shudder came from above, along with a woman's shrill cry.

"Where are you?" he called.

The woman cried out again, and Squall climbed the steps, cautious and short of breath. The heat he could handle. Ifrit protected him from most of the damage, but the smoke threatened to suffocate him.

Winded, he reached the top of the stairs and crouched low. All around him, the world pulsed orange and sweat rolled down his face. He boiled in his clothes and choked on the acrid air. Unsure of where to find the bedroom, he felt along the wall until he reached a door.

A woman in a nightgown sat crouched against a wall inside, trapped by a wall of flame that consumed the bed and a large portion of the wood floor.

"Help me," she cried in a ragged voice when she spotted him. "Please."

Squall drew in a deep breath, but there was little oxygen to be had. Dizzy, but determined, he darted through the flames to her side.

"Come on," he choked out. "We don't have much time."

"We'll get burned."

"We might," he agreed. "But if you stay, you'll die."

He did not give her a chance to fight. He scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, then cast protect and shell to protect her from the flames.

She weighed a ton, and he sagged under her weight, but worse was the lack of air. He coughed, choked, and nearly passed out on his way back to the hall, where he deposited her on her feet and instructed her to grab hold of his belt and follow.

"Don't let go," he said.

They retreated down the stairs as quickly as they could, but the carpet runner blazed in spots, the wood beneath brittle and glowing. One step crumbled beneath his boot and he grabbed hold of the hand rail to prevent himself from tumbling down the rest of the stairs. The woman behind him let go of his belt and crouched against the wall, hacking on smoke, and she said something over and over that Squall couldn't make out.

"We're almost there," he said. "Get up."

"My house..." she moaned.

Hyne Almighty. Squall rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet.

When they reached the bottom step, something fell from the ceiling and crashed to the kitchen floor in a shower of cherry-red embers. All around, the fire raged hotter and meaner. Not even Ifrit's boost could protect him from it, and he pushed forward through the dancing flames, the sobbing woman trailing behind him.

He couldn't breathe. The fire consumed all the oxygen in the room and his lungs ached from the lack of it. The smoke threatened to suffocate him.

Ahead, the doorway flickered a different kind of red, crimson, blood, a steady, predictable strobe that guided him back to safety, back to fresh air. In his chest, his heartbeat raced ahead of the lights as the last of his oxygen ran out.

He pushed the woman through the doorway and went to his knees, his face pressed to the floor to suck in whatever oxygen was left. Not much further to go, but he could not continue on his own without it.

On his hands and knees, he crawled out into the night and cool, clean air washed over him. He drew in a deep breath – choked, coughed, sputtered - and dropped face-first onto the cobblestones just as the roar of fire eating dry wood intensified behind him. When he spared a glance back, all the windows on the first floor glowed hot orange and black smoke billowed toward the sky.

They made it out just in time.

* * *

 **~X~**

* * *

 _August 12, 19:14 PM_

Raine looked up from her baby name book as the bell downstairs chimed once, then twice, followed by a ferocious knocking upon the door. She frowned and set the book aside, pushed to her feet with a groan and sighed.

Probably just a customer who forgot she closed the bar on Sunday nights.

She toddled down the stairs as the bell chimed again and someone called out to her, the voice familiar but muffled. The visitor knocked again when she reached the bottom of the stairs and she rolled her eyes at their persistence.

"I'm coming!" she called back, now breathless from the effort.

She opened the door, prepared to give a friendly but firm reminder that she was closed, but the pair on the step stole her breath away. Jeremy, his hand wrapped tight around his cane, flashed an apologetic smile and nodded to the skinny wide-eyed child before him.

"Found her wanderin' down by the flower shop," he said. "All by her lonesome."

Ellone's bottom lip trembled and fat tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned her gaze to the floor and clenched her fists at her sides. One bony shoulder peeked out from the neck of a too-big dress, and small round scars dotted the crooks of her elbows. Dark shadows ringed her big brown eyes.

Whatever Ellone endured in her time away, it left marks all over her, both physically and spiritually. She came home alive, but the damage left behind cut Raine to the bone.

"I'm sorry I was bad," Ellone said.

"I forgive you," Raine said. "Come here, sweetie."

Raine opened her arms and Ellone crashed into her. She burst into loud, hoarse sobs that she buried in Raine's shoulder and Raine held her tight, her own cheeks wet with tears of joy and sorrow for the frail, battered little girl in her arms.

Jeremy waited through their reunion without a word, his eyes watery and sad, until Ellone calmed down.

"Why don't you go on upstairs and wash your hands while I talk to Uncle Jeremy?" Raine said. "Then I'll make you something to eat."

Ellone's frown stabbed at Raine's heart, but Ellone nodded and did as told.

"She was by herself?" Raine asked.

"Not a soul around," Jeremy said. "She didn't have nothin' with her, neither."

"How and the world did she get here?" Raine wondered aloud.

"Didn't think to ask," Jeremy admitted.

"Well, thank you," Raine said. "For bringing her home."

"No problem, sweetheart," Jeremy said. "You just get some food in her and get some rest. You got the new little one to think about too, you know."

Raine's hands dropped to her stomach and she nodded as Ellone's footsteps echoed through the ceiling.

Upstairs, Ellone sat in the recliner, he heels of her shoes bouncing against the foot rest. Raine went to the kitchen, smeared peanut butter on a slice of bread, jelly on the other, put them on a plate, face-up and set it on the table.

"Come eat, Ellone," Raine said. "And you can tell me all about your adventure."

Ellone slipped into her chair at the table, took a big bite of the peanut butter slice, then one of the jelly. She chewed, her gaze far away but thoughtful and Raine waited for Ellone to start talking. When she didn't Raine prompted her.

"Where's Laguna, Elle? Did he come with you?"

Ellone shook her head and took another bite of bread. Under the kitchen light, Ellone's complexion smacked of neglect. Sunken eyes, pale translucent skin. Scrapes on her elbows and knees. More of those small, round marks on the backs of her hands.

Raine thought of Laguna's letters. He mentioned the girls Adel stole went through tests to determine their worth.

She blinked back tears, unable to tear her eyes away from what could only be needle marks.

"Where is he?"

"Es-ter."

"Esthar? He's still in Esthar?"

Ellone nodded again.

"How did you get here?"

"Some lady."

"A lady?"

Ellone took another bite of open-faced jelly sandwich and licked her fingers.

"Where did she go?"

"She got 'rested, before we got here," Ellone said. "She did something bad, I think. They tried to 'rest me too, but I kicked the police guy and ran away." She set down her bread and looked Raine over with a scrutinizing stare. "How come your belly's so big? Did you swallow a chocobo egg?"

Raine gave a half-laugh, half-sob and covered her mouth with her hand.

"No, sweetie," she said. "I'm going to have a baby."

"A baby?" Ellone perked up and cocked her head at Raine. "Where did it come from?"

Raine sighed, not prepared for this conversation with so many other questions she needed answers to.

"Where's Laguna, Ellone?" she asked.

"I dunno."

"Is he coming home?"

Ellone shrugged and yawned with her mouth full. Raine didn't chastise her for it.

The questions could wait until the morning, after Ellone got a good night's sleep.

It sure as hell looked like she could use it.

* * *

 **~X~**

* * *

Squall sat on the curb in front of the bar and watched the fire brigade direct jets of water onto the roof of the burning house. The odor of smoke wafted up from his clothing and soot stained his skin. He could use a shower and some sleep, but though tired and dirty, he stayed and watched man battle nature from a safe distance.

Half a block away, Marci, the woman he rescued, received treatment for dehydration and smoke inhalation. Squall, who spent less time exposed to the noxious fumes, did not need either once he could breathe easy again.

Every now and then, one of the townspeople summoned the courage to cross the square and thank him for his act of bravery.

Squall saw it less as bravery and more as a duty. Off the clock or not, his skills qualified him for rescue and retrieval where theirs did not. No matter how he personally felt about these people, he could not stand aside and let someone die just because they were jerks to him.

Dawn broke as the last of the blaze was extinguished. One by one, the bystanders departed for their homes, leaving only Squall, the fire brigade and a handful of stragglers.

He was about to go inside, shower and sleep when Jeremy, cane in one hand and a six pack of Winhill Pale Ale in the other toddled up the sidewalk.

"Care to join me, son?" he asked and lifted the six pack.

Squall almost said no, but the thought of a cold beer after a long night changed his mind.

Jeremy sat at a table in the bar, twisted the tops off two beers and pushed one toward Squall. It tasted cold and delicious and it washed the flavor of ash from his mouth.

"That took some guts, kid," Jeremy said. "Never seen no one do nothin' like that before."

"No big deal," Squall said. "I've done worse."

"Reckon you have," Jeremy said. "You know, I been waitin' fer ya to ask me 'bout yer Ma."

Squall sipped his beer, caught a whiff of smoke from his sooty t-shirt and longed for a shower.

"Not sure I want to know," Squall said.

"You seen her yet? Lurkin' around this place?"

Squall snorted and nodded. "I've seen her."

"I think I know why she ain't left yet," Jeremy said.

"Oh?" Squall sipped his beer and waited. "Why's that?"

"She's been waitin' for you to come home."

* * *

Notes:

One more chapter left. I'm going to try my best to finish it and get it posted before the deadline. Personal stuff got in the way, and I've been distracted and unmotivated lately, so we'll see.

And thank you to everyone I wasn't able to thank personally for the reviews. For some of you, I got a "can't send pm, this is spam" message from FFN. That's a new and weird glitch, and it only happens from my phone, which is my primary source of internets. Anyway, thank you guys so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_August 22, 10:39 AM_

Raine ushered the still-frail Ellone into the grocer and ignored the way her neighbors stared. Word spread of Ellone's return and of Laguna's continued absence. Raine stared back until they turned their gazes elsewhere.

She turned her attention to Ellone as they browsed the vegetables. Her complexion had improved with solid meals, but the shadows under her eyes did not go away. The lively, feisty little girl that left her returned a frail, exhausted, and haunted creature, and Raine didn't know how to fix that. All Raine could give her was love, for Ellone's sense of security was shattered, and there wasn't a thing Raine could do to protect her, as fat and bloated and pregnant as she was.

Though Raine's freezer still overflowed with single-serve portions she could thaw for dinner, Ellone would benefit more from healthy meals than she would from the carbohydrate and cheese heavy dishes the ladies provided. Ellone needed the nutrients from fresh things, not empty calories from pastas and over-baked casseroles.

Ellone would not talk about what happened to her. When Raine pushed or asked too many questions, Ellone's eyes welled with tears and she folded in on herself, arms wrapped tight around her legs and torso, and hid her face in her knees. Whatever happened, it left scars. A lot of them.

As far as the woman who brought her home, the details Ellone provided were sketchy at best.

"The police guys said she was an Es-ter spy," Ellone said. "But we didn't do no spying, swear! We just drove a lot."

"Any," Raine corrected. "You didn't do _any_ spying. Did she know Laguna?"

"Yeah," Ellone said. "I guess they were friends or something. In the resis-sance."

"In the resistance?"

"Yep. Can I have some juice?"

"Of course you can," Raine said. "Did Laguna say he was coming home?"

"I dunno. He said he had some stuff to do. He said they were gonna make Adel go away," Ellone said. "I don't know how, 'cause she's really scary like a monster. He gave me a letter to give to you, but it got left in the car when the police 'rested the lady."

"Did you... meet the Sorceress, Ellone?"

Ellone nodded. Raine's heart nearly stopped. She could not imagine how terrifying it must have been for a grown woman, let alone a child, to face Adel in person.

"I didn't like her."

Then, she retreated into herself and refused to answer any more questions.

As they wandered past bins of fresh produce, a dull throb started low in Raine's abdomen. She pressed a hand to her stomach and frowned.

"Aunt Raine? Are you okay?"

"It's just the baby growing," Raine said. "So, what do you want for dinner? Should we get some green beans? Or maybe some broccoli?"

"Green beans. With bacon and brown sugar." Ellone said. She eyed the pints of fruit with hungry eyes and drifted toward the display of fresh summer raspberries. "Can we get these?"

"Of course, sweetie," Raine said. "We can have those for desert. Why don't you pick out a box and I'll get some cream?"

Ellone scrutinized the packages while Raine filled a bag with green beans and placed them in her basket. From the dairy case, she grabbed a small glass bottle of fresh heavy cream from a local farm.

"Well, well. So, the rumors are true."

Raine turned around and stared at the woman behind her. The last time they spoke in person, Bethany all but disowned her for marrying an outsider. Raine placed a protective hand against Ellone's shoulder, prepared for a disagreement.

"Bethany."

"Hello, Raine."

The other customers stared and waited for the inevitable confrontation. Their eyes bored into her, and never in her life did Raine feel so alone. In that moment, it seemed the entire town turned against her.

Raine had plenty of friends and people on her side, but Bethany was a formidable and dominant voice in this town. Whatever she said, people tended to go along with, even when she was wrong, and crossing her meant you placed a target on your chest and faced the firing squad.

Bethany could not be more wrong in this case. She feared a little girl with powers she never asked for. Hated a man she never bothered to get to know. Neither meant anyone any harm.

"So sorry to hear your husband left you," Bethany said. "I hate to say I told you so..."

"He didn't leave," Ellone said, small hands on her hips and her face defiant. "He's protecting his family!"

"Shh, Elle. Let me handle this."

"But she _hates_ us," Ellone said and stomped her little foot. "She thinks I'm a... she thinks I'm a _witch_. That I do bad things like Adel."

Raine pulled Ellone closer, her arms draped around the girl's shoulders, but she fixed her gaze on Bethany.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Raine asked.

"No, I suppose not," Bethany said. She flicked her eyes to Ellone. "You've made your choices, haven't you?"

The pitying look she gave Raine proved too much. Raine, past the point of frustration and on the cusp of fury, snapped.

"We're _family_ , Bethany," Raine said. "Blood."

"Not anymore," Bethany said in a petulant tone. "You chose others over blood. Remember?"

"She's just a child," Raine said. "You're a grown woman. _Act_ like it."

"Good luck, Raine."

Raine held back tears as Bethany turned away and stalked out of the store. She turned Ellone around and straightened the collar of her dress.

"I'm sorry," Ellone said. "I didn't mean to make her mad."

"It's okay," Raine said. "But..."

What could she say? That Ellone should keep her secrets to herself? To never tell anyone about the things she knew?

As unusual as Ellone's gift was, and as scary as it could be, Raine did not want her to be ashamed of it. Not after everything she'd been through. Not after all she suffered for it.

"It's okay," she said again, firmer this time. "She's not mad at you."

"Yes, she is. She thinks they took all the girls 'cause of me, and she thinks you're stupid for marrying Laguna and for letting me come home."

Everyone in the store listened to their exchange and Raine pressed a finger to Ellone's lips.

"We'll talk about this later," Raine said. "Let's pay for our things, okay?"

As they left the store, dull pressure rippled through Raine's lower abdomen and pelvis. She placed a hand on her stomach, took a deep breath, and the pressure subsided.

Just gas. That was all. Probably from the cup of watered down coffee she wasn't supposed to drink at breakfast.

She took Ellone by the hand and they headed down the cobblestone sidewalk toward home, and that dull pressure remained the whole way there.

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

"Are we related?" Squall asked Jeremy. "You're my great uncle, right?"

"By marriage," Jeremy said. "My wife Bethany was your grandfather's cousin. She was real close with Raine when when Raine was a girl, but yer Ma was strong willed and did things her own way, and Bethany didn't like not bein' able to make her decisions for her. They didn't get on so well once Raine was old enough to choose for herself."

Jeremy cast his eyes toward the bar, the corners of his mouth turned downward.

"Now, Raine invited us to the weddin', but Bethany refused to go on principal. Said yer Pa and that girl was gonna ruin her life," Jeremy said. "But, it really started back when Raine first took the child in. Bethany, she was terrified of that girl, and I mean terrified."

Ellone existed in some other-where, between mortal woman and Sorceress, with a gift no one quite understood. She spent her whole life a pariah. They called her a witch, evil, tainted, demon. They saw in her all the things they feared, in the secrets they kept, and in all the things they never wanted anyone to know about themselves.

It always had less to do with Ellone herself than with what people wanted to hide from the world, what they feared she might destroy with her truths, as if she spent every second of her day pillaging their secrets for her own gain.

"She was just a little girl," Squall said. "It wasn't her fault."

"I know that, son," Jeremy said. "But fear does funny things to folks. Maybe, someone thought it was better to give her up than be hostages in our own homes."

"She was a child," Squall repeated. "She was one of you."

"I ain't makin' excuses," Jeremy said. "I just know most folks are cowards, at heart. Most would sell their mama to save their own skin."

"That include you?"

"S'pose it would," Jeremy said. "I ain't too proud of my part in the whole thing."

Squall's stomach fluttered and he picked at the corner of the label on his bottle. This man could fill in the blanks if he let him. The question remained, did he want to hear the whole story, knowing how it turned out? Could he handle that? Or was it best to leave it alone?

It only then occurred to him that maybe, his own tendency toward unfriendliness was an inborn trait, rather than one he consciously cultivated. Pre-Rinoa Squall was not so different from these people. Maybe there were more things he had in common, not just with his mother, but this town and the people in it. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Tell me. All of it."

Jeremy cracked open a fresh beer and swallowed down half the bottle, then set it aside.

"There's somethin' you gotta understand about this town, son," Jeremy said. "We been through a lot of bad stuff over the years."

"The whole world's been through bad stuff," Squall said. "This town's not special."

"That's true, but most places got themselves an army or at least a police force. They got a means to fight back," Jeremy said. "We ain't got nothin' like that. We kept our noses out of the trouble, but the Army came for the menfolk first. Recruiters from the city, you know? Tempted all the young ones away with promises they never meant to keep."

Squall folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. His eyes still burned from the fire, and he reeked smoke, but if he didn't hear Jeremy out now, he never would.

"Those boys, most of 'em became cannon fodder," Jeremy said. "Most of 'em didn't come home, not even in a box."

"I know the history," Squall said. "And about the G-Army's recruiting tactics."

"Then you know they ain't done a thing for the families of the ones we lost," Jeremy said. "So you gotta understand, we ain't got no love of people who show up here outta the blue."

"Yeah," Squall said. "I gathered that. Get to the point."

Jeremy frowned at him over the rim of his beer bottle.

"Please," Squall said. "Go on."

"After that, Esthar came for the girls," Jeremy said, and his gaze went dark. "Got no idea how they knew about that girl, but they did. You know that story, I suppose, and how they came back for her later?"

Squall nodded.

"You know why?"

"Better than most," Squall said.

Jeremy spun the cap of his beer on the tabletop. Squall watched it cross the polished wood, reached out and stopped it before it flew off the edge and hit the floor. He clutched it in his palm, one side smooth, the other sharp with puckered metal.

"What's this got to do with my mother?" he asked. "Or why we were sent away?"

"Well, I reckon it's got everythin' to do with it," Jeremy said.

That hung between them for half a minute before Jeremy looked Squall in the eye. Behind him, Raine wiped down the spotless bar and hummed the notes of a familiar tune.

"Bethany, she was convinced that girl-"

"Her name's Ellone."

"Ellone," Jeremy said. "Bethany was convinced Ellone invited trouble, and she convinced all the other hens it was true. As little as she was, I didn't see no reason to punish her or Raine for what she couldn't help, but I didn't do nothin' to protect her, either. Not when they killed her family, and not when they came the second time... Still keeps me up at night, son."

Squall couldn't empathize. He understood Jeremy's reasons, and even the reasons of the townspeople, but he could not manage even a little bit of sympathy for any of them. They let a family die because they were too afraid to stand up and intervene when a few of their own needed protection. They let Ellone be taken to save themselves, a sacrifice to the gods of war.

"Me an' Bethany, we didn't get on so well after it was all said and done," Jeremy said. "but that ain't your problem and it ain't what you need to hear about."

"Was she the one who gave Esthar Ellone's name?" Squall asked.

"I can't say," Jeremy said. "I got my suspicions, but... I never knew the truth."

"You ever ask?"

"Never got the chance," Jeremy said. He sighed, finished his beer and looked at Squall again. "She passed not long after yer Ma. I'd like to think she died of a guilty conscience."

"Because she sent us away?" Squall asked with a frown.

"Naw. Because she didn't do nothin to help when Raine went into labor and Ellone came knockin'. She didn't even answer the goddamned door."

Squall went stiff.

"Are you saying... Was it just the two of them?"

"There was an awful storm that night," Jeremy said. "Never seen nothin' like it..."

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

 _August 22, 18:03 PM_

" _The Galbadian Weather Service has issued a severe storm warning for Winhill and the area surrounding. Expect squalls and downpours, with rainfall amounts of 3-5 inches overnight. Some storms may produce intense lightning and winds in excess of 60 miles per hour. Flooding is possible in low lying areas. Structural damage and debris is possible with stronger storms. Citizens are advised to stay indoors."_

"What's a _squall_?" Ellone asked as she snapped the ends off a green bean.

"It's a..." Raine thought back to the book she'd read about weather phenomenons and tried to recall the definition. "It's a strong wind mixed with rain, I think."

"Like a thunderstorm?"

"Sometimes," Raine said. "Not always."

"I'm not afraid of lightning," Ellone said. "It's the thunder that's scary."

Raine smiled as Ellone tossed a green bean into the pot that sat between them on the table.

"It makes everything all shaky," Ellone said. "I feel it in my belly."

"The thunder can't hurt you," Raine said. "How many green beans do you have left in your pile?"

Ellone peered down at the table and shrugged. "A bunch."

"Count them for me," Raine said.

Ellone frowned. "How come?"

"Did you have school where you were?" Raine asked.

Ellone shrugged. "Sort of. Dr. Odine taught me about magic and pol-ticks and stuff."

"Magic?"

"He said my memory stuff is magic," Ellone said. "I'm kinda like a Sorceress, but not. He said some people only get little pieces of it, so they can sometimes do cool stuff, but they don't go crazy."

A knot formed in Raine's throat.

"Did he teach you math? Reading?"

"No," Ellone said. "But I can read already. And I hate math."

That dull pressure in Raine's abdomen returned, not painful exactly, but stronger than before, and more like the tensing of a sore muscle. She wondered if something she ate had gone rancid.

The ladies told her she could expect something like this, as her body changed to accommodate the child. They said not to be too worried about aches or pains unless the pain became severe. This was not severe, just slightly uncomfortable.

"You're making a funny face," Ellone said.

"The baby's moving," Raine said. "Do you want to feel?"

Ellone nodded and stood up. Raine took Ellone's small hand and laid it against her stomach. Ellone's eyes went wide and round, her smile was toothy and unrestrained. As if the baby sensed her there, a flurry of kicks beat against Raine's side.

"That feels weird," Ellone said. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know yet," Raine said. "We won't know until he or she is born."

"Does it have a name?"

"Not yet," Raine said. "I was hoping you could help choose one."

The pressure came again, sharper this time and Raine grimaced as the baby's foot hit her in the ribs.

"Let's get dinner started, and you can help me pick out some names, okay?"

"Okay," Ellone agreed with real enthusiasm. "I know some good ones."

What a relief, to see that haunted quality leave her dark eyes, even if only for a minute. Raine smoothed Ellone's hair back and kissed her forehead, then sent her back to her task while Raine started the chicken.

Ellone ate with gusto, as if still half-starved. Raine offered seconds and Ellone ate those too, plus a second roll smeared with honey and butter.

"What about Zephyr?" Ellone asked. "Like in the story?"

Raine smiled. "Maybe."

"What does it mean?"

"Well, it's the opposite of a squall," Raine said. "A gentle breeze instead of a stormy wind."

"Oh," Ellone said and pondered that for a minute. "What about... Zephyr for a girl. Squall for a boy."

"Hmm. Maybe," Raine said. "Those are both good names. I'll add them to the list."

Ellone helped clean up the dinner dishes, but a tiredness crept into her face as she stood on her step stool at the sink and scrubbed the plates.

"Why don't you go get ready for bed?" Raine suggested. "I'll finish this up, okay?"

As Raine dried the last dish, another weather warning blared from the radio.

" _Residents of Winhill are urged to take cover, as this storm is expected to produce hail, heavy rain and winds in excess of 70 miles per hour."_

Raine went to the window and peeked outside, vigilant for any sign of the foul weather.

As if on cue, a low, loud peal of thunder rattled the windows, but the night outside remained calm. No wind, no rain, just Winhill's usual quiet streets and empty sidewalks.

A wide-eyed Ellone emerged from the bathroom in pajamas and Raine invited her to share her bed through the storm. Normally, Raine kept strict rules about that, but Ellone's fragile state warranted an exception.

Ellone curled up in her arms as the rain began to beat against the roof and the wind picked up, but it wasn't long before the girl was fast asleep. Lightning flickered at the windows and the gale howled in the eaves and Raine lay awake as the dull throb became a steady, warm ache.

She dozed, but came fully awake when a sharp pain ripped through her back and her hips. She sat up, and felt something burst, then a warm wetness between her legs. For a second, she thought Ellone wet the bed, then realized what it was. Her water had broken.

Too soon. Too soon. The baby wasn't due for almost two months.

She doubled over as the first real contraction came on and gasped at the intensity of it. The ladies all said to expect something less painful than depicted in movies, something more like bad menstrual cramps at first, but this...

Something was wrong. She sensed it in her bones. Something was wrong with her, with the baby, and she got up in a panic as the pain subsided. She reached for the light switch, but when she flipped it, the room remained dark.

At the window, darkness prevailed. No amber glow from the street lamps, no welcoming beacons from neighbor's porch lights, every window on the street dark.

The power was out.

She cried out as the next contraction hit her, far too soon after the last, and this one felt like something demonic clawed at her from the inside. On her knees on the hardwood floor, Raine clutched her midsection and panted through the worst of it.

"Elle, wake up."

Ellone didn't hear her whisper, or her whimper when she stood to return to the bed.

The pain came back, sharper and hotter than before. Lighting lit up the room, followed almost immediately by a roll of thunder that shook the floorboards and rattled the dishes in the cabinets.

"Ellone. Wake up. I need you. The baby's coming."

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

"Ellone braved the storm to get yer Ma some help," Jeremy said. "Either no one heard her knockin' over all the noise, or they didn't answer because they was afraid."

Squall stared at the man, his heart pounding in his chest.

They let her die. They ignored a little girl's call for help out of spite and fear, and his mother died because of it.

He pictured Ellone, soaking wet, skinny and desperate, going from door to door, only to be ignored or rejected at every last one.

She never once hinted the reason his mother passed away had something to do with these horrible people and their stupid grudges. Never once did she mention it was anything more than complications or the lack of medical care available at the time.

Not once did Ellone ever say she and Raine were left to fend for themselves.

The anger started low in his gut, a breathlessness, an ache that multiplied and swelled the longer he sat there and watched the specter of his mother behind the bar.

He thought of her dying alone, with only a six year old girl there to care for her. Then, he thought of what it must have been like for Ellone and his anger became a cold, slithering fire in his chest.

"I don't know what happened after," Jeremy said. "All I know is that come dawn, your Ma was dead and Bethany and Marci found that little girl hiding under the bed with you all bundled up in a blanket."

He was right all along. Knowing did not ease his conscience. It did not bring closure.

"Bethany blamed you and Ellone for your Ma dyin' like that," Jeremy said. "Few days later, a woman came from Centra and that was the last any of us seen or heard of you."

Not one person in this shitty little town lifted a finger to help. Not her family. Not her friends. All because of their prejudice against that which they didn't understand.

A tear escaped from the corner of Squall's eye and he wiped it away, got up and opened the door from the street.

Small mind, ugly prejudices, even hatred hid behind those quaint, cute, well-kept houses. Not such a nice place to live after all.

"And they say SeeDs are monsters," Squall said to the street.

Behind him, Jeremy's chair legs scraped against the wood floor and soft, uneven footfalls thrummed through the boards beneath Squall's feet as Jeremy approached.

"It wasn't you that killed her," Jeremy said. "I know I said that before, but it ain't true. It was ignorance that did her in, plain and simple."

"Is... Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Squall asked. "You think I'll forgive you because you accept blame? Because you didn't actively hate us, you just stood aside and allowed others to?"

"I don't expect no forgiveness," Jeremy said. "None of us deserve it."

"I've never wanted to hate something so much in my life," he said. "Get out."

"You gotta understand -"

"I understand perfectly," Squall said. "Get. Out."

The man stepped outside, his cheeks wet with tears and Squall slammed the door behind him. He stalked up the stairs to the bathroom, turned the cold water on in the shower as far as it could go and stepped under the stream, both to cool off and to wash away the stink of the fire from his skin.

It wasn't often Squall Leonhart cried. He could count on one hand the number of times after childhood, that he shed a single tear, but as he stood under the icy water, it came out in quiet but painful sobs that forced him to lean into the tile.

His phone began to ring, but he ignored it and forced himself to calm down. What was done was done. The only thing to do now was finish up what he could and leave this place behind forever. He wanted nothing to do with this town, or these people ever again.

* * *

Notes:

Yeah, the planned 4 chapters turned into 5. I'm hoping I can get the last one up by the deadline, but I scrapped like 50% of the final chapter because it didn't make any sense, and in my rush to finish it, I forgot to wrap up a certain plot point. So... anyway. One more.

Also, when I started this fic, I intended it to be a lot less sad than it turned out. Apparently, I have two speeds: angst or crack fic. This was supposed to be a little of both and mostly fluff, but somehow it got angsty, so I apologize to anyone who expected something a little lighter.

(If you haven't already, please go check out the other entries Successor Challenge and support those authors by leaving them reviews!)

Thanks for reading and for the reviews! :)


	5. Chapter 5

Squall sat down at the bar with his unfinished bottle of beer and watched his mother's ghost hard at work on the other side. She wiped down the counter, washed invisible glasses, poured imaginary drinks, and occasionally smiled at someone beside him.

So far, he'd seen her a dozen or more times, but he never really _looked_ at her. Now, he couldn't look away. He would never get to see her in real life, never get to know her beyond this.

The pictures and letters and mementos upstairs only told part of the story of who she was in life. All he really knew of her amounted to a list of adjectives an a story more tragic than he ever anticipated.

"Look at me," he said to her. "Please look at me."

Behind the bar, Raine poured a beer from the defunct tap. For just a second, the glass and the pale, foamy liquid inside had substance. Not a hazy or half-imagined pint of beer, but something so real, Squall thought if he took it from her grasp, the glass would be cool in his hand, the first taste of the local brew slightly bitter and hoppy with a hint of orange.

"Raine," he said, louder.

She turned to the left and laughed at the bar stool three seats away. Her eyes glittered and she shook her head, wagged a finger at the invisible patron then turned away to retrieve her bar rag.

He watched for any sign of discontent, but Squall saw a woman happy with her life and her work. Whatever those women projected onto her, it didn't show.

Squall folded his arms on top of the bar and let his chin rest on his forearms, his eyes heavy and sore and his heart caving in. This was all he would ever get of her. She would never tell him she was proud of him, never hold him, never celebrate a holiday or birthday, never tease or scold or laugh with him. She would never force him into a hug or look at him that way that mothers looked at their children.

He never thought he wanted any of that. Never really believed it mattered, but for just a few minutes, he allowed himself to picture a different childhood. One where he never knew what it was like to lose, never needed to compete for attention or affection, one where he wasn't taught twenty different ways to kill a man before the age of twelve and never expected to shoulder the burden of command in a time of war before he turned eighteen.

Would he be bored with small-town life? Have a different set of friends? Would Laguna come home? Would Squall still be here or would he be off on some adventure, tempted away by his father's tales of traveling the world and his accidental, bumbling heroism?

What would that be like? To grow up knowing the security of family?

He wiped his eyes and sat up, finished his beer and hurled the bottle at the wall beside Raine's ghost.

"LOOK AT ME!" he roared.

But Raine did not turn around.

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

Squall slept all day and most of the night. He woke up before dawn and checked the time on his phone. On the display, he saw a plethora of missed calls. Three from Rinoa, two from Ellone, one from Zell and eight from Laguna.

Years of training conditioned him to wake at the smallest of sounds, at the slightest change in his environment. How in the world did he miss _fourteen_ calls? More important, why did everyone decide to call him all at once?

He listened to his messages and skipped through them when they all started to sound the same.

 _Squall? Why aren't you answering your phone?_

 _I'm now officially worried._

 _Please call me back._

 _Hey, Rin said to give you a call. Guess you're not picking up. Call her back, dude. She's blowing up my phone._

 _Heya Son, it's me. Your dad. Laguna. Um, so... call me back. We're worried about you._

Squall rubbed his tired eyes, got up, brewed some coffee and tried to decide who to call back first.

At this hour, Rinoa would still be asleep. Ellone could be anywhere in the world, but Zell and Laguna were probably awake. Neither understood his need to keep calls short.

He messaged Rinoa first, punched in Ellone's number, stared at it on his screen for a minute, then canceled the call.

They needed to talk, but not on the phone. He wanted to speak to her in person.

Three cups of coffee later, Squall changed his mind. He knew all he needed to know.

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

Squall woke the next morning to a ferocious banging on the door downstairs and repeated, rapid-fire chimes of the doorbell. He growled and wrenched to his feet, and nearly tripped over Tonberry. The cat yowled at him and took a swipe at his pajama pants.

"Yo, Squall! Open the damn door!"

Zell?

Confused, Squall double-timed it down the stairs and flung the door open to find both Zell and Irvine on the doorstep, Irvine with a case of beer on his hip and Zell clutching a duffle bag.

"What...?"

"Impromptu road trip," Zell declared. "Thought you could use some company."

"Rinoa sent you, didn't she?"

Zell scratched his head, unable to come up with a lie. Irvine smiled and shrugged, but tore open the cardboard box of beer and offered one to Squall.

"It's 7 A.M."

"It's beer time somewhere," Irvine said. "And you're on vacation. There are no rules on vacation."

They both breezed past him and remarked on the improved state of the place. Squall trailed in their wake, still half asleep with the unopened beer in his hand.

Irvine sat at the bar, cracked open a beer, and took a long swallow.

"It's 7 A.M," Squall repeated.

"Breakfast of champions," Irvine said and lifted his beer in mock toast.

Squall wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or charmed or grateful. Loneliness plagued him the entire visit so far, Rinoa's voice the only one that didn't judge.

"I was planning on leaving today," Squall said.

"Why?" Zell asked. "This place is awesome." He ducked behind the bar and surveyed the half-finished cabinets. "And it looks like you're still working on it."

"I've got my reasons."

"So, let us give you a hand," Zell said. "We'll get some steaks and barbecue."

"Get shitfaced," Irvine added. "Complain about our respective significant others."

"That's you," Zell said. "I'm happy."

"Yeah, right now, but just you wait," Irvine said. "Once the new car smell wears off, it's all downhill from there."

"I didn't stutter," Zell said. "And I doubt Squall's gonna trash-talk Rin, either."

"Yeah, because he knows you'll run right back to her with the gossip," Irvine said.

"Dude, really?" Zell said.

"Why else is Squall here and not in Deling City?" Irvine said. "Must be trouble in paradise."

"You always assume the worst, don't you?" Zell said.

"No, I'm just a realist."

"You ever think it's because they don't need to be up each other's butts all the time?" Zell asked. "That maybe they trust each other enough to be able to do their own thing? I mean, just because Selphie only lets you off the leash with supervision doesn't mean other people's relationships are like that."

"Those are fighting words."

"Whatever, dude. Like you could take me," Zell said with a laugh. He held up his fists. "These guns are way more accurate than your stupid buckshot any day of the week."

Squall blinked at the pair, shook his head and cleared his throat.

"You came all this way to argue?"

"Naw," Zell said. "We're here to cheer you up and lend a hand. Right, Irvy?"

"Only Selphie gets to call me that."

Zell grinned a devilish grin and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, Irvy!" he cried in falsetto. "You're soooo Pervy!"

"ENOUGH," Squall said. "Can you two at least let me have some coffee first?"

"Yes!" Zell cried and punched the air. "Party at the bachelor pad."

"If you're here, you're going to work," Squall said.

"We can do both," Zell said. "Right Irvine?"

Irvine took a contemplative sip of his beer.

" _Right, Irvine_?"

At Zell's pointed glare, Irvine nodded, finished off his beer and opened another.

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

Once Squall had a cup of strong coffee in him, they piled into the car and drove the short distance to the hardware store to buy paint and supplies. With only four colors to chose from, it didn't take long. He picked pale yellow for the upstairs bathrooms, beige for the downstairs, and stark white for the storage and kitchen behind the bar.

At the grocer, Squall received a warmer welcome than the last two times he shopped there. The young woman behind the counter beamed at him, and for a second, he thought it had something to do with his companions.

"You're so brave," she said. "I could never run into a burning building like that."

Squall shrugged, ignored the looks Irvine and Zell sent his way, and paid for his purchases.

Irvine bought more beer. Too much, in Squall's opinion, but he stood back and watched while Irvine charmed the cashier with his flattery and easy smile.

"He's impossible," Zell said. "Selphie's a nut, but she's not really wrong, is she?"

"She's less right than she thinks she is," Squall said. "It's just a game to him. He's not serious."

"Yeah, well, he better watch it," Zell said. "Selphie's got some kind of sixth sense about that stuff."

"Why be with someone you don't trust?" Squall wondered.

"Been wondering the same thing," Zell said. "Not that she's any better. It's just she's not flirting with dudes, she's obsessing over seating arrangements and who did or didn't RSVP. He only does this when he feels ignored."

Squall could not imagine a relationship where the trust wasn't solid and absolute. In his own relationship, SeeD and Timber's liberation often got in the way, but a lack of trust never became an issue. He trusted Rinoa implicitly.

Maybe he was luckier than he thought. Healthy relationships seemed few and far between, and as complicated as his relationship with Rinoa was, he never doubted her commitment.

Irvine wrapped up his flirtatious exchange with the cashier and the three returned to the house, where Woody waited on the step, tools in hand.

"I was starting to worry you took off after the fire," he said.

"Thought about it," Squall said.

"Want a beer?" Irvine asked Woody.

"Uhh, I sorta have work to do?" Woody said.

"So do we, but that ain't stoppin' us," Irvine said.

"Maybe later?"

Squall almost laughed. Then, he caught sight of his mother at a table, a letter in her hand. He froze in the doorway and his heart broke at the rapt expression on her face as she read every word on the page.

"Squall?" Irvine asked. "What are you doing?"

Squall jerked his head toward the table. "You don't see her?"

"What, the cat?" Zell asked. "When did you get a cat?"

Squall blinked at the table, where Tonberry sat statue-still, its green eyes unnaturally bright in the morning sunlight. Raine was not there.

"Not my cat," Squall said.

Zell bounded over and reached out to pet it.

"Careful," Squall said. "...it bites."

Tonberry didn't bite. Tonberry didn't scratch. It leaned its head into Zell's palm and started to purr.

"Good kitty," Zell said. "Who's a good kitty? Yes, you are."

"Son of a bitch," Squall said and narrowed his eyes at the cat. "Hey Irvine? I think I will have that beer now."

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

"You missed a spot," Irvine said from the doorway of the upstairs bathroom. He sipped his beer and pointed to a spot below the sink.

"...thanks," Squall said.

"Are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there?" Zell asked.

"I'm more of a supervisor," Irvine said.

"Then go supervise the paint drying downstairs," Zell said. "You're getting on my nerves."

"How about I supervise the procurement of more beer?" Irvine said. "I'm empty."

Zell cast Squall a look as Irvine retreated.

"You okay? You've been quieter than usual."

"Fine," Squall said. "Just..."

Zell set aside his paint brush. "Just what?"

"It'll sound crazy," Squall said.

"Try me," Zell said. "Nothing seems all that crazy after Time Compression, you know?"

Zell had a point. Squall still occasionally dreamed about that cracked, endless plain of despair, an undulating black sky above.

"...I keep seeing my mother."

"Seriously? Like, her ghost?"

Squall nodded.

"Is she here now?" Zell asked. "Watching us? Creepy!"

"No," Squall said with a touch of annoyance. "It's less creepy than... sad."

"Sorry," Zell said. "I didn't think."

"It's okay. It's just... a lot to think about."

"Maybe you need to talk about it."

"Maybe," Squall said.

"Well, if you wanna, I'll listen, okay?"

"Thanks."

"Eh, what are friends for?"

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

Irvine invited Woody to stay for dinner and drinks after the two bonded over some musician they both enjoyed. Woody provided a buffer between Irvine and Zell and their endless bickering, and he didn't seem the type to get wasted and smash all the windows, so Squall didn't mind the extra body.

The whole house smelled of paint. Squall opened all the windows to air the place out while Irvine and Woody dragged a table, four chairs and a cooler of beer outside. Zell produced a small barbecue grill from the trunk of their rental car to cook the steaks.

"You know, this is a pretty cool house," Zell said.

"Yeah," Woody agreed. "It's almost a shame you want to sell it."

Squall shrugged and sipped his beer. "Don't have a reason to keep it."

"That whole thing with your mom, right?"

Squall tensed, but nodded.

"Look, I know the old folks around here can be real jerks, but most of us aren't like that," Woody said. "A lot of people were pretty pissed about what happened. A lot of people really loved and respected her, you know? So much that they still talk about her, even after all these years."

Squall looked away. He didn't want to talk about it. Not with someone he barely knew.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know, we're not all assholes."

Zell patted Squall's shoulder and passed him another beer. Squall took it, even though he'd already overindulged.

"And, you know, thanks for saving my grandmother," Woody said. "Even though she didn't exactly welcome you to town."

Squall didn't know Marci was Woody's grandmother. Though he resented Marci's role in his mother's demise, at least he spared Woody from that kind of grief.

"No big deal," Squall said.

Woody finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle in the trash.

"I oughta get going," he said. "It's been nice hanging out with you guys. Not many people my age in this town, you know? So, yeah. Thanks for having me. See you in the morning?"

"Yeah," Squall said. "See ya."

The three of them sat in silence for a while, Squall so deep in thought he didn't notice that Zell nodded off with his face against the table.

"Lightweight," Irvine said.

"We should put him to bed."

"Nah, leave him there. Unless you want to get punched."

"Good point," Squall said.

Irvine propped his boots up on the empty chair, took a slow, contemplative swallow of his beer and looked around the garden.

"You should really keep this place," he said. "It could be like a retreat. Or a bachelor pad. A place to get away from it all. Hell, I'd love to own a place like this. If it was mine, I'd quit my job and open it back up."

Squall shook his head. "It's a stone around my neck."

"Why? Because the people here are rude?"

"Because my mother died here and she won't leave."

"Well, maybe it's time to make peace with all that," Irvine said. "You been to her grave yet?"

"No."

"You should go. At least once," Irvine said. "If you don't, you'll regret it."

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

Squall looked around the flower shop, at a loss. The heady perfume of so many blooms concentrated into one space tickled his sinuses as he wondered what sort of flower might be appropriate for visiting one's mother's grave for the first time.

"Can I help you, son?" the elderly shop owner asked.

This woman showed no sign of hostility, and her kind eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled at him, the same way Rinoa's did when she smiled. Disarmed, Squall looked around once more and shrugged.

"Something for my mother," he said.

"You're Raine's boy," she said.

Squall nodded, glad that he did not have to explain.

"She loved lilies," the woman said. "They were her favorite."

"I know. I just thought maybe..."

"You might pick the wrong one?" the woman said. "The dead don't care, sweetie. I know your Ma will appreciate whatever you choose."

"Then... whatever you suggest would be fine," he said.

"My favorite kind of customer," she said with a sweet smile.

She selected an assortment of blooms and with impressive speed, arranged them among fern fronds and wrapped them in pretty yellow paper.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked.

"Your money's no good here," the woman said. "Not if it's for your Raine."

"I couldn't," Squall protested.

"You most certainly can," she said. "This town owes you a great deal, and a few flowers ain't gonna settle a debt like that."

Squall accepted the bundle and offered his thanks. He turned to leave, but paused halfway to the door.

"You knew her."

"Quite well," the woman said. "She was a delightful, strong woman. Made the prettiest wreaths for the flower festival. Everyone says so."

"Did you turn Ellone away, too? The night I was born?"

"I don't suppose she came down this far," the woman said. "If she had, I woulda come runnin' after her in my nightgown and house slippers through the pouring rain. I woulda."

Squall detected no lie in the woman's face or voice and he nodded.

"Not everyone in this town is a bigoted fool, dear," the woman said. "There are a lot of folks who were angry 'bout what Bethany did. She said she had it handled. We just didn't know that meant sending you away."

The more Squall heard of this Bethany woman, the more he loathed her.

"Did she have some kind of grudge against my mother?" he wondered.

"Not so much a grudge as a broken heart," the woman said. "She lost her own daughter to the Estharians, and two of her sons to the war. She blamed little Ellone for that, said she was cursed, even though most of us knew it wasn't her fault. They would have taken those girls one way or another."

No wonder Ellone never came back, even when it was safe to return.

Squall held up the flowers. "Thanks again."

"You're truly welcome," the woman said. "Now, you go on and go see your Ma."

Squall left the shop and walked the short distance to the edge of town, where he found the dirt road and followed it through the tall grass to the cemetery gates. Halfway up the path, the took his phone from his pocket and dialed Ellone. Her voicemail greeted him.

"Hey, it's me," he said and looked around at the rolling hills and the blue of the sky. "I just called to say... Maybe we can get together some time soon. I feel like we never see each other, and... maybe that needs to change, Elle. I miss you. Anyway, thanks and …. Love you, sis. Okay. That's it. Talk to you soon."

He blushed at his own awkward and stupid message and at the way he blundered through it. Rinoa would be proud. She'd call it a step forward, but Squall just wanted a relationship with his sister. He wanted to talk to her more often than every three months. He wanted to know her again.

His mother's headstone sat apart from the others, at the top of a hill, all by itself. The etching on her headstone was simple and almost plain in comparison to the angels and elaborate embellished stones of others. He clutched the bundle of flowers in his fist and approached the grave.

"Hi," he said.

For a few minutes, he stood there, unsure of what to say or do. He didn't feel her here. Not the way he felt her back at the bar. Why he thought coming here would help, he didn't know, but he knelt down and stared at the date of her death for a long time without speaking.

He laid the bundle of flowers against the headstone and sat back on his heels. Warm sunshine beat down on his shoulders and he melted inside his jacket.

"I'm sorry for everything," he said. "I know maybe it wasn't my fault, but I'm... I'm sorry."

He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"I wonder what you'd think of me, if you'd be disappointed in how I turned out," he said. "Stupid, huh? Rank A SeeD and Commander of Balamb Garden, and still worried about what people think."

Squall sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. This wasn't going the way he thought it would. Always at a loss for words, always unsure of what to do when it came to other people. It didn't help that the one he most needed to reach passed away a long, long time ago.

"I wish could have known you," he said. "But... I don't regret anything about my life. Except, maybe waiting so long to let people in, but I was afraid they'd leave me. Guess you probably know all about that, huh?"

He blinked away the moisture in his eyes and sat back on his heels.

"I've got good friends, and... someone I love, and maybe you would like her. Laguna sure does."

He laughed softly and thought of his father's fondness for Rinoa.

"I know she would like you," he said. "Anyway, I... I think it's time for you to rest. I don't know why you're still here, but I want you to know I'm okay, and I'm sorry that we never got a chance to know each other."

He half expected she would appear beside the grave, but she didn't. The wind blew the grass in gentle waves down the side of the hill, and the clouds overhead drifted lazily from east to west.

"Bye, mom," he whispered.

He got to his feet and returned to the bar. His eyes burned and his throat hurt, but he never knew talking to a headstone could be so cathartic. Even if she wasn't there, even if she didn't hear a word he said, at least he got it off his chest.

Along the way, people waved or said hello as he passed by, but others turned away from him, their eyes cast to the ground. Easy to tell who the guilty ones were.

As he opened the front door, his phone rang.

"Hey, Sis," he greeted. "That was quick."

"You sounded desperate. Is everything okay?"

Where to begin?

"I'm fine," he said. "Where are you?"

"Dollet," she said. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to get in your head to figure it out?"

"No, I..." he began. "I just visited Raine's grave."

"Oh."

"Thank you," he said. "For being there for her at the end. I'm glad she wasn't alone."

On the other end of the line, Ellone burst into tears.

"Sis, don't cry," he said.

"I can't talk about it," she said. "If you're asking for details, I can't. I can't."

Squall did not anticipate Ellone's near-hysteria, but he supposed he didn't need details. He knew enough, and whatever happened in those last hours, it left her traumatized enough that even after so long, she couldn't speak of it.

"Okay," he said. "I won't ask. But if you ever do want to tell me or show me, you can, okay? Even if it's fifty years from now. Or never."

Ellone sniffled. "Okay. It's just not something I want to remember."

"I understand," Squall said.

Ellone took a minute to compose herself, then asked, "So, how is it going?"

"Not much left to do," he said. "Still have a little more than two months of vacation."

"Oh, whatever will you do with yourself?" she teased, but still sounded weepy.

"I was thinking..." he began, "either you could come here and stay a while or... maybe you could come with me to Deling City."

"Would Rinoa be okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

"I... I don't know," Ellone said. "We don't really know each other, do we?"

"Then maybe we can fix that."

"Really?"

"You're my Sis," he said. "I never wanted to let you go in the first place."

"Who are you and what did you do with Squall?"

He laughed, glad to hear shades of the real Ellone in her voice again.

"Just, being here, I guess maybe I figured a few things out."

"Good," she said. "But... please don't sell it. I know you don't want it, and I don't know if I can face it yet, but please don't sell it."

"Why not?"

"This is going to sound really stupid, but it's really all we have left, isn't it?" she asked. "Except for a few pictures, that's all that's left of her."

Squall looked around at the polished wood and the gleaming mirror behind the bar. Unlike his mother's grave, he sensed Raine here, even if he couldn't see her.

"Its just going to sit empty and fall apart, Elle," he said. "I think that might be worse than selling it to someone who might actually get it up and running again."

"Maybe so," she said. "It just sort of feels like she's been forgotten, is all."

Squall thought of the way the people here held Raine in such high esteem, even if they didn't agree with her choices.

Behind the bar, his mother poured drinks and laughed. Maybe this was her afterlife, in the home she loved so much. Maybe someday far in the future, when Laguna passed, she would join him, but for now, maybe this was where she belonged.

"She hasn't been forgotten, Elle. Not even a little."

* * *

 **~o~**

* * *

Three days later, Squall packed his things and prepared for the drive to Deling City. In a small animal carrier, Tonberry yowled, displeased with her temporary home, and lay curled around four blind miniature copies of herself.

What a surprise to wake in the middle of the night to a nervous, panting cat literally having kittens on the pillow next to him.

Whether that explained her sour disposition or not remained to be seen, but she allowed a few pets afterward, and actually purred before she bit him on the hand for getting too close to the kittens.

His hands and wrists were scratched all to hell from trying to get her and the kittens safely in the carrier, but he couldn't just leave them to fend for themselves. Tonberry could survive on her own, but who knew about the kittens?

He loaded the car with his belongings and secured the cat carrier in the back seat, then fished his keys out of his pocket to lock up.

At the door, he took one last look at Raine as she placed flowers in the vases on the tables.

"I'll come visit, okay?" he said. "Maybe I'll bring Rinoa next time."

Raine looked at him for the first time since he arrived, and she smiled the way only a mother could smile at her child.

* * *

 _~the end~_

* * *

Notes: I almost didn't finish this in time, and I'm not 100% happy with it, but here we are at the end of the challenge, and this is what I've got.

Thanks so much for reading, and thanks to everyone who took a minute to review. I'll try to reply to everyone, now that it's complete and I'm not under a deadline.

Seriously, thank you guys!

P.S.-if anyone cares, the title comes from a Ben Harper/Relentless 7 song of the same name.


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